Strangers on a Sidewalk
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: The Doctor is approached by an unfamiliar woman who might not be unfamiliar at all. (Post Hell Bent)
The air is half-knocked unexpectedly out of him and he glances down to see the thin arms wrapped around him, hears the small sound of happiness as he feels that exhale vibrate against his back and the Doctor freezes. His mind doesn't have time to argue against his body's acceptance; the familiar feel of this person against him makes his head dizzy with nostalgia and yet he's thrown, by both their strangeness and their embrace.

He's not a hugger.

That's what he tells himself every time his companion approaches him with that look in her eyes. He gives her a pat on the shoulder and he turns away because he won't. At least not without good reason – a near death, perhaps – and he finds himself at a loss as to why he's not stripping this person away, shouting at them about personal boundaries and some sort of harassment. Isn't that what the kids were on about these days? He's been intimately violated, he should be enraged, and yet he's not.

Slowly his assaulter unwraps themselves from him and he hears the confident laugh as he turns to take in large dark eyes and round reddened cheeks that extend the frown on his face as she gestures and then scratches at the base of her neck, as though trying to erase something unseen, and she tells him, "Sorry, from behind you looked entirely like someone I used to know."

With a tilt of his head and a lifting of his eyebrows, he shoots, "Do you tend to make all of your identifications from the bums of your victims?"

She giggles, and then shakes her head, bottom lip tucked firmly between her teeth.

He smiles. He doesn't know why he's smiling, but he offers her a smile as he continues, "Perhaps it's best if you kept your eyes front."

"Oh no," she teases, "Never a good idea." She grins at his surprise, head cocking before she nods and looks him over, telling him brightly, "Might as well have a chat, seein' as we're no longer strangers."

"What do you mean?" His hands come up, opening towards her before swinging out and then falling at his sides as he replies, "We're entirely strangers. Still entirely strangers," and somehow the words sound false to him.

"Are we?" She questions, thick brow dropping as she posits, "Is anyone really strangers – aren't we all living interwoven lives, bouncing off each other, responding to one another, echoing out among each other? Aren't we all connected in some vast way only the universe understands?"

Finger coming up, the Doctor laments, "Firstly, leave the universe speeches to me, you're rubbish at them," a second finger rises, "And secondly, the universe cares little for how our lives intertwine. Snap one out and it'll plug in something new, it cares neither who nor when nor how they arrived."

"Oh," she scoffs, "Have we become enemies then? Disagreeing about the fates of lives and their importance?"

"I said nothing of their importance," he shoots in frustration, brow furrowing, "Everyone has their importance, it has little to do with the universe."

"I doubt you truly think that," she teases.

He begins to answer, but stops, looking down at her as she waits. There's something in her eyes, something like recognition, and he's tempted to ask her if he knows her – if they've met before. Is that her quandary, the universe has reunited them and yet he stands, incapable of remembering her face. Is that her test, there's some level of importance to their interaction he should understand, but doesn't.

She's a tiny thing, no more than an inch or two over five feet, barely a hundredweight and she's got eyes like welcoming saucers, staring up brightly at him, just waiting. Simply waiting, he thinks as he takes a small step away from her as she laughs, hands coming together to fidget in a way that tickles something at the back of his mind. Her whole existence seems to act as a repetitive tap to the dowsing rod of his, and he can't help but rock back to take a step forward, pointing at her with a long finger before giving her nose a gentle prod.

"Run along," he tells her pointedly.

She nods and salutes him and there's a twinkle to the look she gives, as though she knows that salute would grate his nerves, just before she turns away, taking a few bouncing steps before twisting suddenly, her hair swinging around to land gracefully on her shoulders and he straightens, staring at her smiling back at him.

"Have you forgotten some other nicety, or bit of unnecessary conversation?" The Doctor asks.

She shrugs, "Thought I might get another hug."

"I'm not a hugger," he tells her, and he tries to make it sound forceful; tries to convey his anger, but it comes out on an odd chuckle he doesn't understand the origin of, but she seems to.

The woman claps her hands together and then lets them part to swing open before slapping down comfortably at her hips on either side of her, not unlike he'd done just a moment ago, telling him boldly, "There is a place for everything, and everything has its place."

"The universe does not care," he replies swiftly, straightening and narrowing his eyes even as he grins.

She shrugs, and tells him calmly, "Oh, it does. If it didn't, we wouldn't be here."

He watches her take a breath and just as she's going to turn again, he calls simply, "Hey, you."

She shifts and he can see her lips have shifted into a neutral line of consideration, her eyes are no longer playful, but anxious, and her fingers are twisted into each other. He can see the tension in her stance and for a moment he tries to still his senses to count her heartbeats, until he finds he cannot. He stares, his mind racing through memories, his hearts thudding just behind the hands he's grasped there as he winces and takes a step towards her as she takes one step back towards him.

Not quite meeting in the middle, remaining just two paces away.

One apiece if they chose.

"Do I know you?" He asks the question softly, almost inaudibly, and he watches the tiny smirk return to her lips, the way it dimples her left cheek in a way that makes him blush.

She replies quietly, with a small nod of her head, "I dunno, should you?"

"I believe I should, but I fail to recall," he explains, gesturing at his temple, "It's been refried more than the beans in a bad burrito."

The woman takes a long breath and something about it makes her laugh as she exhales the air and shakes her head, explaining, "Maybe you do, but the universe isn't ready for us yet – we'll simply keep bouncing about, running into each other until one day all's right again."

Laughing, the Doctor raises a hand as she begins to turn, sensing there's so much more she wants to say. Feels it in the way her body shifts towards him instead of away just before changing its mind. "Hey," he begins, ending on a whisper, "You."

Looking back to him, she merely nods, waiting.

"I'm still not a hugger," he begins with a bowing of his head before glancing up to admit, "But yours was quite nice."

"Not strangers, then," she allows after a rough swallow, "Strangers don't offer nice hugs."

"No," he agrees, "I suppose they don't."

There are tears brimming on the edges of her eyes, just before she turns and walks away, and he watches her as she makes her way along the street, eventually disappearing into the crowd. He's still standing there an hour later, finger pressed lightly into his chin, eyes fading in and out of focus on the people coming and going around him, thinking about her words. He doesn't know what to call her and he doesn't know if the universe would bring her around again – why wouldn't it, it hadn't before.

Had it?


End file.
